Dream In Color
by TexasTripletMom
Summary: Short Story. Fantasy/Romance. A working wife and mother dreams of Twilight. Rated M for Mature concepts


**Foreward**_**: **_**My hats off to Stephenie Meyer who's prose and characters have inspired this story. Stephenie Meyer owns all Twilight Series quotes (peppered through this story, and inspiring lines within the story as well), as well as the bronze-haired man.**

**Reference to Twilight, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer. Also thanks to "The Bangles" who own rights to "Manic Monday" also quoted in my story.**

_Note to my readers__: Please feel free to provide constructive criticism and positive feedback alike. I have no delusions of grandeur, and understand I don't amount to much as a writer, but please try not to be cruel. I am new to this._

_I chose a first person narrative as a nod to Stephenie Meyer's Twilight. _

_This is fiction, but the lead character is a working mother and wife, not a character in the Twilight novels. _

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**Dream in color: my joy my solace my escape.**

"_And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine. What neither of us was prepared for was my response."_

A sniffling sound broke the silence. I hesitated for a moment.

All was quiet. I continued.

"_What neither of us was prepared for was my response."_

The sound of tiny nails scratching fabric nearby broke the silence again. Again I hesitated.

A low moan rang out.

I fumbled around in the sheets for a bookmark and quickly stuffed it between the worn pages and lay my well loved book aside. I glared at the alarm clock. It'd only been 2 and a half hours since I'd last put her down.

I sighed as I threw on my pajama pants and tumbled out of bed. By now she was whining loudly. You could hardly blame the little soul for being hungry. That's what babies do, they eat, and sleep, and dirty their diapers, and somewhere in between they found the time to be cute.

"Isabella you are my life now" I said lifting my warm wailing daughter and pressing her to my chest. "Now off to change your diaper and get you something to eat!" I muttered with as much enthusiasm as I could muster at 3:45 in the morning.

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"_The blood boiled under my skin, burned in my lips. My breath came in a wild gasp. My fingers knotted in his hair, clutching him to me."_

"Six o'clock already … I was just in the middle of a dream … I was kissin' Valentino … By a crystal blue Italian Stream"

"Ungh." I fumbled in the dim light and beat my palm against the alarm clock.  
The music stopped.

With a sigh I clutched the covers to my chest and rolled over on my side again.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to dream. I pressed my eyes closed and begged my dream to return. Nothing happened.

I heard the soft padding of paws on carpet approaching the bed, and stop short a few feet from me.

"Meow?"

I clutched the covers tightly to my chin.

You have to be an adult now, I told myself firmly.

"OK, OK! I'll feed you, sheesh!"

I threw back the covers and went off to the kitchen to feed two hungry cats. I greeted my husband who, having just returned from a long night at work, was feeding Isabella her morning bottle in the living room. I gave him a peck on the cheek as I shuffled off to the bathroom for my morning shower.

I let the hot water beat on my back. The soothing warmth enveloped me, relaxing my muscles. My head hurt, even in the delicious warmth of the shower my muscles ached. It was hard to shake the sleep from my eyes.

I hated mornings. If there were any decency in this world, God would have equipped me to tolerate caffeine. (Caffeine made my stomach uneasy, I never touched the stuff). I wasn't even permitted this one crutch to help me out of bed in the morning.

A passing glance in the mirror assured me nothing was out of place. I didn't look long. The dark circles under my eyes bore witness as my badge of motherhood. I lamented my youth. I quickly pulled a comb through my wet hair, brushed my teeth, and slipped into a pair of dark denim trousers and a comfortable blouse.

One more peck on the cheek for my husband, and I was in the car on my way to work.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

_I bit my lip and tucked my chin down, picking apart a blade of green grass between my fingers. _

_He cupped his cold marble hand under my chin and raised my eyes to meet his again._

_His eyes were like butterscotch; liquid gold melting into my soul._

_The light reflected off of his skin casting rainbows across my view. The reflection came closer and closer until it was filling my view. _

"HOLY CROW!" I slammed on the brakes stopping mere inches from the bumper of a Volvo stopped ahead of me in traffic.

A closed my eyes, regaining my composure.

I was day dreaming again? I needed to get better sleep.

That or they needed to make Volvos extinct.

A horn honked behind me. I quickly stepped on the gas to catch up with traffic.

"Stupid shiny Volvo owner"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Work passed as usual, boring and without incident. My world was vanilla. Not unpleasant, but hardly enough to satisfy.

The days flew by, yet dragged on. I lived every moment for the time when I could once more feel the rough pages under my fingers. I longed for private moments, when I could drink in the words that, though black and white, colored my world with emotion.

This life was so mundane. I couldn't wait to escape into the world of fiction again. Reading is easy. Life is harder.

My husband spoke to me as we drove to an evening service at church. He droned on about his day. I picked up a word here and there, but had my mind on other matters as I stared out the open window feeling the cool wind on my face.

_I felt a thrill as his cold fingers ran through my hair to the nape of my neck. He pulled me closer and gently pressed his cool lips against my forehead. The wind played in his hair, tousling the shiny strands of reddish brown in the sunlight. _

"…. Don't you think?"  
It always caught my attention when his voice rose in a question. I didn't get the impression that he was really concerned about my feedback so I continued to silently glare out the window. Some time passed. I sighed. It's funny how he never listened to a word I said, but naturally I was expected to listen to him blather on for hours.

"Is everything ok?" He asked

I knew he wouldn't want to hear what I had to say so I responded with a curt

"Uh huh." I nodded my head to emphasize the statement.

Stand up straight. Walk faster. Stop fidgeting. Smile. He was constantly nagging me.

I could never be good enough for him. I could never be good enough for anyone.

On the way home from church I picked up groceries while he waited in the car. When we got home, I unloaded Isabella and the milk. He unloaded the water. I went into the other room to change, figuring I could first get into pajamas then come back for the remaining perishable items that needed to be put away.

He ran after me though, and confronted me in my closet. "Aren't you going to take out the trash, or do the dishes or anything else? DO I have to do everything around here?"

I walked a fine line with his temper. I tried not to loose myself in complete submission to him, but I was never fully free to speak my mind.

If I was too quiet, it only served to make him angry. If I said the wrong thing or used the wrong tone his temper would get the best of him. His temper had the habit of running away with him.

It was actually quite comical to see spittle fly out of his mouth when he got angry. I'd often suppress a smile, but genuinely it was wise to fear his rage. I didn't fear for my own person, he never beat me. But I feared for those few material possessions I had formed sentimental attachments to. Items such as my great-grandmother's depression-era glass pitcher.

I insisted on changing into pajamas before I returned to the kitchen to put away the groceries. I told him as much, and he threatened to throw the groceries in the trash as punishment. I really didn't see what difference 1 minute would make. I quickly got dressed, and fished the items out of the trash and unloaded them to the proper places in the fridge and freezer.

He could be a tyrant. He could be a bully. He controlled every aspect of my life through fear. But I loved him, truly I did. I loved him to the bottom of my soul, all the way to my little toes.

He could be sweet, on his terms. His sweetness was as rain in a barren desert, nurturing my parched heart. But I hated when he acted like a monster. I hated being bent to his will through fear. I had to store up those sweet memories as a camel hoards water.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

I took out the trash, finished up the dishes, and pulled another load of laundry out of the dryer. I completed my chores, like a right and proper wife, while he went upstairs to balance our bank account or play on the computer. (I never knew which)

My prize, my solace, my comfort at the end of a long day of strife, was to retreat into a good book. It was a Friday night, one of 3 nights a week when my husband was off from work. We bartered and traded and split up the child rearing responsibilities. Tonight was my night for uninterrupted sleep. But I chose instead to read.

The light of my lamp caressed the pages of my well loved book. The words were merely ink on a page to the unobservant eye. But to me they were magic. A world took form and lifted themselves from the pages into my consciousness as I read. To me, this world was an escape from all that troubled me in my own life. A good book was the fudge swirl to my vanilla existence.

"_Do you really have any idea how important you are to me? Any concept at all of how much I love you?"_

I read until my eyes drooped, and the book slumped to my bed. Waking some minutes later, I folded a bookmark between the pages, lay my novel aside, and turned off the light. I slept. And I dreamed.

_I felt the warmth of golden sunlight on my skin. A warm breeze filled the air, whipping the loose strands of my hair about my face. A staggering vista opened before me, I looked down on the sweeping landscape below me. I was sitting on a craggy outcropping of rock, admiring dense lush green forests. I was free here. My heart soared at the sight, the smell, the feel of the place. Happiness permeated every inch of my existence._

_The most beautiful red bellied bird, cloaked in vibrant emerald green with long tail feathers lit upon my knee. This bird meant freedom. A beautiful laugh, smooth as velvet sounded off the forest below. I looked at the bird confused. The bird laughed. It turned its head to look at me and it spoke. _

_« __Avez-vous vraiment une idée comme vous important êtes à moi ? Tout concept du tout de combien je t'aime ?_ »

I held the beautiful bird's words to my heart as a talisman.

"_Beautiful bird of freedom what is your secret?" __I asked him. _

_The tiny bird fluttered his wings. __He shook his little head, and laughed that velvet laugh. The tiny bird then became a man, a beautiful man with bronze hair, tousled by the breeze. Sun glinted off his skin and cast rainbows in all directions. He smiled at me as though he knew all of my secrets. _

_He raised one pale slender hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. _

_He gently brushed my bottom lip with his cold thumb. __He laid his beautiful pale hand, as smooth as marble on my cheek. It was cold to the touch, but I felt the burn of warmth on my cheek. I flushed crimson at his touch._

_I would __long to stay in this place always. This was home the place where happiness lived. He looked at me with compassion. His golden eyes burned with a fire from within. He knew my thoughts, he knew my soul. _

_Slowly he moved his glorious radiant face just inches away from mine. He leaned his cold forehead against mine. I breathed deeply of his sweet scent.__ He smiled a crooked smile. _

_I was with him in my happy place now. _

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The alarm sounded. I lay there motionless for what felt like an eternity, clutching the blanket to my chin.

Eventually I managed to rise from my reverie and commence another day of drudgery. When I went to make the bed, I found my book lying where I'd left it last night.

Moving my well loved book aside, I was shocked to find wedged between the pages, in place of the bookmark I was sure I'd used countless times before, a solitary feather most brilliantly green and cold as ice.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

My world is black and white, mundane and boring. I have but one solitary escape.

I always dream in color.


End file.
